Confessions of a Serial Alibi (16 page)

The Cross-examination

I believe that’s when we took a short recess and then returned for Vignarajah’s cross-examination. As the cross-examination started the realization that I was officially in the hot seat dawned on me. Not only were my words about to be examined with a fine-toothed comb, but it was about to be done by the Deputy Attorney General of the state of Maryland. If anyone could strong-arm me into making a fool of myself, it would definitely be an attorney of his caliber. After all, between the two of us, I was the only one inexperienced with being in a courtroom. Thiru began his line of questioning by asking how I was feeling. “Nervous,” I replied. He chuckled and made some kind of off-color remark in reference to “being gentle” with me. Looking back, at the time I didn’t think much of it but now it kind of makes me shudder. I didn’t realize to what lengths he was getting ready to “bend me over” as they say. I think that was his mild-mannered attempt to get me more relaxed. Perhaps he thought that if I were at ease, I’d be more likely to fall prey to his trickery. Either way, I wish I could say that Thiru made me feel more at ease. I wish I could say that what came next was effortless and as straight-forward as the testimony that I shared with Justin Brown. Unfortunately, that could not be further from the truth.

Vignarajah’s line of questioning was not straight-forward in the slightest sense. It’s my opinion that he made it a point to keep his questions as confusing as possible in an attempt to trick me into agreeing with him on certain points. In this strategy he failed. He made me feel as if I was dealing with a child who was trying to scam his way into getting the answers that he wanted. As if he were to ask me the same question enough times, in a different enough way, that my response would somehow be different. He obviously didn’t take into account that I deal with that mentality every day. As a stay-at-home mother of two boys under five, I can say that Vignarajah’s idiotic tactics over those two days is what annoyed and infuriated me the most. I thank God for the large bulldog paper clip that had been left on the witness podium. Pinching that clip became my saving grace because like a handheld stress reliever, it kept me calm.

During the first part of his cross-examination, Vignarajah asked me a series of questions that seemed to have both no purpose and no direction at all. He seemed to be obsessed with the fact that I had not gone to extreme measures to research details from the original trial. I was asked if I had ever obtained court transcripts, reports or various other items of evidence, all of which seemed silly to me. As I see it, my involvement in the case has never depended on what any other piece of information has to say about Adnan. My involvement in this case is a simple matter of quantum physics. Adnan’s body as a whole is not capable of being in two places at one time. Based on our current technology it is physically impossible for Adnan to be both in the library speaking to me at the very same moment that the state argues that he was inside of Hae’s car strangling her to death. I don’t know if Vignarajah was trying to convince me otherwise or whether he was insinuating that my memory was false; in any case it was the first hint of his ongoing condescending tone.

I have to give Vignarajah credit, he worked overtime in his attempts to conceal the reasoning behind every question and he challenged me about every spoken and written word I’ve ever uttered in relation to this case. For example, he’d jump from situations that happened in 2015 to those that took place in 2000. He would then jump to things that transpired in say, 1999, and then fast-forward to 2010. Then, just when I thought I had cleared all his hurdles, he’d go back to the same question (rephrased) that he had asked me about hours before from the year 2000. It felt like he was asking me the same damn questions multiple times. In fact, I know he was because all the while Justin Brown was objecting:

“Objection, Your Honor, asked and answered!”

“Objection, Your Honor, she just answered that!”

“Objection, Your Honor, the witness already said that she doesn’t remember!”

“Objection, Your Honor, does the court wish Mrs. McClain to speculate?!”

At one point, Judge Welch even suggested to Vignarajah that he speed up the nature of his inquiry and get to his point. Unfortunately, it seemed as if Judge Welch was in no mood to uphold any of Brown’s objections. At the time it felt like a bad thing because with each over-ruling came a question that I had to answer again. However, looking back now I think Judge Welch did that strategically. I think he wanted the prosecutor to shoot out all his dirty arrows and let him employ all his efforts, so that in the end no matter Judge Welch’s verdict, no one could say that Vignarajah didn’t give his best efforts. No one could say that Vignarajah didn’t work me over as best as possibly imagined. In any case, at the time, let’s just say I was less than pleased by the merry-go-round approach to questioning that Vignarajah had for me. Gary thought Justin Brown’s objections were hilarious because as he put it, I didn’t need Brown. I was holding my own.

Over the next two days Thiru would continue to ask me silly questions like whether I enjoyed the SERIAL podcast and what my personal opinions were about Sarah Koenig as a journalist. How was it that I came to learn of Adnan’s arrest? Who all did I tell I spoke to Adnan on January 13th? Did I tell Justin Adger about the January 13th encounter in person or over the phone? What was the location of that conversation and when was it that Justin and I decided to make arrangements to visit the Syed family? Who drove me to the Syed family home and did I know where they lived? Did I create a YouTube video when my attempts to obtain my Sprint phone records fell through? Just a whole bunch of questions that made me feel like he was trying to overload me with minor details that weren’t necessarily important in terms of seeing Adnan, where I did, when I did on January 13th, 1999.

Vignarajah asked questions that alluded to me being privy to other people’s private conversations, like if it would surprise me to know about Hae’s friend’s opinions about Syed’s personality or their concerns over his demeanor. It felt as if Vignarajah was trying to influence my opinion of Adnan’s guilt, and as if he were inconspicuously trying to make me into an “Adnan guilter” instead of an unbiased witness. At any rate, Vignarajah would then also ask me to speculate on other people’s intentions and interpretations as if I were a telepathic mind reader. At one point he asked me why I thought Syed would go to the public library at the front of the school when the track was in the back of the school. To this I thought,
Really? How the hell should I know?
but instead I answered much more cordially: “Sometimes the track practice doesn’t start at the track. Sometimes it starts at other locations on the school grounds.” As if he didn’t see the error in his line of questioning, Vignarajah then asked my opinion of why Syed allegedly changed his routine on January 13th and use the public library instead of the school’s internal library. Without even thinking I blurted out “His prerogative?” and the courtroom erupted in laughter. I mean really? How in the hell am I supposed to know why a person chooses to do one thing one day and a different thing the next? As I said in court, sometimes people make random changes to their routines. Some things are just really, really bad coincidences. For all I know Adnan was hungry that day and decided to grab some food at the diner or 7-11 across the street. Perhaps he figured he’d kill two birds with one stone and check his email at the public library on his way back to track practice. Who knows?

Nonetheless, Thiru asked me more silly questions about my social life and social status. Did I tell many people about my encounter with Adnan back in 1999? At one point he implied that I had purposely kept the encounter as some sort of dirty little secret, but at another point he implied that I had used it as a means of seeking attention. He was literally all over the place with his accusations, throwing poop everywhere just to see what would stick and what he could get me to admit that I did not remember.

Thiru would grill me about the order of my class schedule from 1999. Did I write my second letter in CIP class and which period was that? Never mind the fact that in my second letter to Adnan it says that I was writing during CIP class and that I had to go because I had to attend third period (co-op). I thought it seemed pretty redundant for him to ask me a question that he already had the answer to. The best answer that I could provide was to refer to the contents of my letter(s), because to this day I can’t even recall what CIP stood for. After all, how many of you over thirty-two years of age can remember the exact order of all your classes your senior year of high school. Hell, how many of you can remember what you ate for lunch last Tuesday?

Nevertheless, Thiru pressed on. Did I have CIP class before Spanish class or the other way around? What sports did I play my senior year? Did I play basketball; did I bowl? The questions were exhausting and seemed never-ending. I was ready for them to stop but Thiru just wouldn’t let up. At one point I got so confused that I accidentally testified that I had played basketball my senior year. However, shortly after leaving the courtroom I started to feel very unsure of that information.

Throughout high school, I had only played a half of season of basketball because I had joined the team mid-season. The only reason I was allowed to do this was because both the players and the coach were all the same people from my volleyball team. After I got home from that first day of court, I quickly began to realize that my memory of that event included an upperclassman that graduated in 1998. I called a few friends to confirm my suspicion, and determined that it was impossible that I had played basketball my senior year. No harm, no foul though, because I simply volunteered a correction to the court and it wasn’t a big deal.

At any rate, Thiru plugged on about my relationships in high school, in particular, whether one of my best friends, Stacie Allen, was known in high school as “White Girl Stacey” (from my second letter). I laughed and said, “No, she’s Black Girl Stacie.” This once again caused laughter in the courtroom. Side note: my friends and I will forever call her that now. This consequently would be the moment I realized why Vignarajah had treated Stacie with so much disrespect the weekend prior to court. He thought she was a person of greater interest than she was.

Up until this point, none of Vignarajah’s questions seemed even remotely relevant to the reason we all were there. Until he began to ask me about my conversation with Kevin Urick, the only effective thing that Vignarajah successfully achieved was getting me to say “I don’t know” or “I don’t remember” a lot. Even his questioning about my conversation with Kevin Urick seemed rather futile. Asking me whether Kevin Urick knew me to be an alibi witness for Adnan Syed (during our conversation in 2010) and whether Urick was aware of the existence of my 2000 affidavit seemed like a pretty foolish question to ask. I had just explained that when I called Urick, I introduced myself as a potential alibi witness for Syed. I can only assume that perhaps Vignarajah had forgotten that part of my testimony, the same way he had forgotten Urick’s 2010 post-conviction testimony in which Urick stated:

“…She [Asia McClain] was concerned, because she was being asked questions about an affidavit she had written back at the time of the trial…”

Other than plain-old forgetfulness, what was the point of having Judge Welch or myself sit through that line of questioning? Did Vignarajah forget that Welch was the original post-conviction Judge?

In terms of information I failed to know or remember, most of it was information that seemed unremarkable and will probably be forever forgotten or unknown to my mind. I can’t say that everything he asked was of little significance. Vignarajah may have scored a point with the whole affidavit issue with Rabia. During my cross-examination Vignarajah asked me if I would be surprised to know that Rabia had testified (in 2010) saying that she contacted me prior to showing up at my house. I said yes, it would surprise me—again, because I don’t remember Rabia scheduling the encounter ahead of time. I do remember Rabia coming to my house and going to the notary. I don’t remember anyone else being in the car and I remember her accidently driving past my house when she dropped me off. Although I am positive that my memory is accurate and it’s Rabia’s that is flawed, who’s to say that the truth isn’t a combination of both our memories? Perhaps she did call ahead to schedule a time but was late and I was surprised when she finally showed. Perhaps she did come to my house and we went to the library then the notary. Perhaps that’s why I remember feeling so annoyed that she was taking up my afternoon. Perhaps Saad was in the car, but in the back seat. Perhaps I simply don’t remember him being there. Perhaps when she dropped me off at home Rabia did embarrass herself by driving two doors past the very house that she had just left earlier. It’s possible that both our accounts are correct. I think it’s silly to assume that one of us has lied or committed perjury.

Vignarajah then asked if I would be surprised to know that Rabia had previously said that I attempted to call the police and attorneys along with the Syed family (in 1999). The minute he said this I instantly recognized it as a trick. I don’t know why but I saw this statement as something that he had taken and twisted to sound different from what Rabia had actually intended. Still, I informed Thiru that I would be surprised to know that. I also asked whether if Rabia had been referring to the contents of my 1999 letters to Syed and not actual verbal admissions from me, because I knew for a fact that Thiru was referencing a non-existent conversation.

Soon after this Thiru attempted to exploit my memory of the weather on January 13th, 1999. Sadly, for him, he was unsuccessful because there was no specific memory to be had. He brought up the fact that it snowed the week prior to January 13th. He used that fact as an opportunity to question the accuracy of my memory. He reiterated what I’d said to Sarah Koenig about my memory being tied to the first snow of the year. I then confessed that my conversation with Sarah consisted of a poorly communicated guess. I admitted to the court that I don’t remember the weather the night of January 13th. I just remember calling my mom and telling her that I needed more time to get home from Derrick’s house because the weather was bad. My mom bought the excuse and Derrick and I were free to enjoy more time together. How long? I couldn’t tell Vignarajah for sure. All I could do was continue to restate that I do know that school was closed the following two days and that fact made the night owl in me very appreciative. Vignarajah eventually abandoned that approach and began to take on some more offensive ones.